


Proof of the Pudding

by Tsuukai



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sawamura Eijun/Other(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuukai/pseuds/Tsuukai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taiga is an empty shell, as his dream and ambition are snatched out of his reach. He returns back to Japan only to be devoured by the enormity of the nation’s criminals. Working his way up the food industry, he has finally managed to be without expecting too much, the staff now his irreplaceable family. He would rather spend all his days reprimanding Sawamura for being the idiot he was, watch as Miyuki makes fun of everyone he can without being maimed, and pray that he lasts another hellish day taking over his capricious boss’ duties.</p>
<p>That is, until he meets Aomine Daiki again. Only this time, there is no basketball championship to be battled over and he is a far cry from the amazing player Taiga knew him for.</p>
<p>Wretched, damaged and debauched, Aomine shows Taiga all the shadows in his life are more than mere darkened corners. Alive and moving, these shadows are causing a wave of anguish and torment to all those that Taiga has left close to him. Starting with Taiga himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sour Grapes

**Author's Note:**

> Slow introduction. Mild graphic violence at the start, to increase later. (It is a Yakuza!AU so expect the worse and the best possible.) 
> 
> Technical terms at the end of chapter if required. 
> 
> Maybe out of character? I apologise in advance for _this_ and maybe grammatical/writing errors.
> 
> This is primarily AoKagaAo (that means **homosexual relations, yaoi, BL, what have you** predominantly), no two ways about it. But it may take a while for that to spring up. There will be other pairings, and I will concentrate on the others, but my focus will be on these two characters. I apologise if you came here just to find that out. I love all the characters--good and bad--of the two manga/anime, but creative license and all that may seem like I don't (again, I do love them!). But go ahead and comment; you may point out something I have missed.
> 
> Please do enjoy this! :)

 

There had been a time when basketball solved everything, Taiga thinks, stirring the demi-glace slowly, watching thickened liquid fold around his spoon for a while before he quickly ups the pot and slams it on the counter in front of the waiting line-chef, resuming his task of checking the sauces before they had to be passed on from him, mind elsewhere.

A time when he was a friendless _Issei_ in America and one measly basketball game had formed his niche and a brother to call his own. Long days of heading back to a cold, uninviting home, no one to  look up to and shower praises were all replaced when he could get away and be the free wild child that basketball allowed him to be. His tiny niche grew and grew, encompassing all his thoughts and dreams and life that when he had found Alex, Taiga felt what it was to have an older sibling and a mother, even if it was all in one sweaty, bullying, unfeminine package.

“Get the sofrito started,” he commanded, his gruff voice loud enough over the sizzling pans behind him and his line-chefs, and he sees one of them getting the ingredients ready for the Brazilian sauce. Taiga glanced over his left shoulder, his neck muscles pulling at the clavicle that still twanged uncomfortably with spurts of pain. “What else do you need, Sawamura?” He called out to the waiter who was hovering out front, lips pursed and looking mildly panicked.

Sawamura Eijun with his dark brown hair smattered with gel into submission, brown eyes that held a tinge of amber lighting brightly, expressive, and full lips that were currently pouted in nervousness. “Um, er, nothing really, _shogun_ , it’s just that…” the lithe young man stammered—using a title that sometimes peeved him—voice going small as he ducked his head and twiddled his fingers, “It’s just that Azuma…-sama…has arrived.”

The kitchen staffs drops into a deathly silence, the only noise coming from the fryers, the boiling pots and the exhaust fans.

“And…?”

Sawamura gulped. “And he’s with guests. And he’s sitting at Kunitomo-sama’s table.” It looked like Sawamura had to physically stop himself from yapping by grinding his teeth together after the glare Taiga threw at him. Or he really did not like the man like the rest of them.

Taiga stepped away from the heated stove, wiping his hands quickly on the clean dishrag he swiped from the nearest rack; he walked down the gangway to where Sawamura shuffled his feet. Taiga glanced outside where the reserved corners of the restaurant were dimly lit by candles on the table, and sure enough, a familiar burly man sat at the furthest corner with two other men, one which had a woman demurely sit at the side of.

Taiga sighed, swivelling around and calling out, “Yea he’s out there, but he doesn’t look like he’ll be coming here anytime soon, so move your asses and get those dishes out there _now_!” The clattering resumed in almost a shock to the roar he let out. To Sawamura, he said, “If you can’t deal with him, just…I don’t know, send Kanemaru or Tōjō, just don’t come in here to hide.”

Snickering from behind made both of them turn to see a bespectacled man with his shoulders hunched and a large grin on his face, toque on his head askew stylishly. Taiga’s eye twitched at seeing it. “Heh, what’s this, Sawamura-chan, can’t handle serving your boss?”

Sawamura glared hotly, snapping, “He’s not my boss, Bakazuya!” But the man, Miyuki Kazuya, simply continued snickering and hurried off to his station. Taiga watched, one part bored of the routine and another part annoyed, before he sent Sawamura scampering back out to do his work.

At times like this, Taiga misses basketball even more.

He has stopped thinking about the things he could have done differently—practised set times, not overwork muscles that were to rest, take precautions for the jumper’s knee he invariably acquired—and thinks more along the lines of what he can do now that could possibly fill the large gaping hole left in his heart. He spends more time learning his skillset in the kitchen than catching up with what was happening in the basketball world. He was distinctly afraid to see old faces in new forms, rising up in the world without him, and the knowledge would slowly eat him alive until there was nothing of him left or to call his own.

Resuming his work at the sauté station, Taiga spent the rest of the evening calling out dishes as they were ordered, organising the meals and when to let them out, making sure their dishes had the A-OK before they left the kitchen doors, and tiredly making sure Sawamura especially did not mess up in serving the wrong dish to the customers. He had half a mind to call in their expeditor to finish up the dishes and remind the young male who he was to serve to, but the evening had just started.

It just had to be tonight when both the executive chef and his assistant sauté chef were out of the kitchen, leaving Taiga to do both their work.

Sometimes, he really hated being him.

 

* * *

 

Daiki spat out the blood slowly pooling in his mouth.

He refused to swallow the iron-tasting liquid, gagging on it to stop it from moving down his sandpaper throat; he was beyond dry heaving at this point. Anything that was forced down was getting pushed right back out whether they liked it or not. His throat, parched, scratchy, wherein coughing made the sandpaper column feel longer than it usually was and the blood leaking from the cuts in his mouth cavity did not help to sooth it. He was sure that when he was done feeling disgusted, done being slammed on his aching head, he was just going to sit back and choke on the blood to end his misery.

Breathing hurt, and staying straight, neck bowing completely to drop his heavy head to hang before his chest, chin inches away from kissing it, he puffed out a few gasps, trying to speak. He could not let out his voice.

“Are you sure they got it?” The voice echoed, vicious.  “Where’s the money at?”

He does not remember where he was taken. Knowing he met up with them earlier in the docks because that was where most of their business was conducted, and not where he could feel smooth metal on his chaffed knees, because the dock was made of concrete. Disoriented from where he was, he tried blinking; eyelids already puffed up and hurting, crusted with the blood trickling from the gash on his temple. His eyes, so dry they could not tear up anymore, blurred and ached, but he forced them to, wanting to know where his grave was going to be.

“Where is it?!” the voice barked.

Daiki struggled to lick his lips, once so soft now split and bleeding down his chin. When he did manage to at least wet it, he tried speaking again, this time getting out “J-jun…has it.”

It seemed like that was all they needed, or it was the right answer, he did not know; he did not care past this point. All he wanted to do was rest his tired, blurry head on something soft so that he would not be feeling like he was suffering from vertigo. The occluded front in the space they were congregated in was making him queasy and it was already difficult to pay attention to the questions.

“What is happening here?”

The voice cut in coolly, from a dark corner or so he thought. Everything was submerged in this quiet muted darkness, and the buzz in his head was becoming louder—like a whirring sound going on and on and on. He has never heard it before but it was making him feel good. Calm. Distant. Like if he nodded off now, no one would be able to wake him up.

“Daiki?” someone called him. With tremendous effort, he managed to lift his head, neck muscles protesting the damage, crying in that creaking way of theirs. He finds it funny; his body muscles can cry but the one organ that was supposed to, did not show a drop of the salty liquid. “Why are you laughing?” And it seems he was going crazy too. Oh whatever, like anyone really cared for him now.

He blinks at the blurry image, of a soft smile on the man’s face, a dimple on the left cheek and thick eyebrows moving as soft chuckles escaped tired lips. The man opened his mouth, a hand reaching to brush back dark blue hair from his face, coming closer, as he said with a warm smile, “Don’t sleep yet, Daiki. C’mon, wake up now, kiddo. Talk to me?” He pleaded.

Daiki stared, eyelids pushed past their limit as he took in the figure almost glimmering before him, sure he had snapped that thin line tethering his soul onto Earth. Wryly, thinking _this was it_ , Daiki rasped out a greeting he had almost forgotten, “Hey… _oyaji_.”

 

* * *

 

By the time the night was winding down and Taiga sent home the expeditor, he and two other line-cooks were busy cleaning up his station before they started with the next rush of dishes when the call came. Furihata Kōki, one of their waiters that sometimes acted worse than Sawamura, popped his head in quickly to inform Taiga that he was called by the executive chef and his guests, and just as fast exited so that he would evade the worse of the redhead’s glare.

Once again, Taiga found himself cleaning up to leave his station, taking the cleaner chef’s coat to don on before leaving, patting down the creases. He neared the table, hearing a toned down conversation between his boss who acted more like his wayward son and the two men with him. The woman had left, not at the seat he had seen her occupy, but he did not care as he turned to face the wide face of Azuma Kiyokuni.

“Kagami, here, meet my friends,” Azuma introduced the two men, Shirogane Kōzō and Harasawa Katsonari. Shirogane was an imposing man, slicked light grey hair with a few stray strands flitting on his forehead showing off his cold sharp features with a peculiar rap industry standard beard, even though when he smiled at Taiga, he appeared warm and genuine. A cold shiver went down his spine as he bowed at the man, being stared at with narrowed and curved eyes. The other man, Harasawa, was the youngest of the three, black wavy hair that grazed his nape and dark eyes set into a furrowed look and it did not affect his relatively handsome, tight-lipped presence amongst the company he kept tonight.

And here he thought he was going to be complimented without the stare down.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he tried not to mumble, hands fidgeting to get back to work and not here _socialising_ with men he could hardly care about.

“Shirogane-san here has shares in _Kin to Seidō_ ,” Azuma goes on, talking about the restaurant as if he cared much about the establishment. Taiga really did not care and it might have shown in his expression when Shirogane chuckled and waved off the stiff talk.

“The food was lovely, Kagami- _ryōri_.” Taiga blushed at the title given to him.

“Ah, I’m not such a great person,” he denied, bowing his head.

“No, he’s not simply complimenting you,” Harasawa cut in, leaning on the table with his fingers interlocked, resting his chin on them. The slowly dying candles—which Taiga realised he had to get someone to change soon—threw off a heated sheen to those dark eyes that bore into him. He tried to distract himself from the attention, unused to this, but the man did not let up the stare despite clearly knowing Taiga was uncomfortable.

Fuddled and not knowing what he should say besides thank you, he catches Sawamura tiptoeing around so as to not be caught, but Taiga flagged him down. Downtrodden eyes and a pout were aimed at him as he signalled at the candles. Sawamura did as requested, bowing to excuse his interference, and reached out to replace the candles from Azuma’s side.

Then Sawamura yelped, quickly snapping his neck to the side to glare heatedly in shock at Azuma. Taiga was surprised too, and unknowing of what made the younger male react in that way, could only stand by dumbly.

Stiffly, Sawamura straightened, bowed with a firm apology, and stalked back into the kitchen, once again using the bustling place as a hideout. Azuma, though, had a mile-wide smirk on his face as he stared after the slim retreating figure.

The other two at the table acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, not like Taiga had any hunch. In fact, Harasawa was still staring at him, eyes hooded and contemplative.

“We should sit down one day,” the man finally decided to part, “and talk more about how lovely your meals really are.”

The innuendo did not miss Taiga as he would have wished. Under the chef’s coat, his muscles bunched in a manner that wanted to wipe out the calm, collected look that oozed self-confidence; as though Taiga would follow through with his hidden request.

“I’m not too sure,” he was starting to say when Azuma cut in with a boisterous laugh.

“Oh don’t worry, Harasawa. Kagami is very good at private functions, too.” The large toothed smile curled Taiga’s stomach contents, but he was more furious over what the other was implying.

“I’m sorry but I do not do functions _out of my contract_ …sir,” and bowing he ground out, “I am glad you enjoyed your meal but I’m afraid my kitchen requires my presence. If you would please excuse me.” Not waiting for a response, he straightened and stalked back the way he came.

When he entered the kitchen, his eyes caught Miyuki’s who simply turned back to the dish before him, sautéing. Sawamura was nowhere in sight, but Taiga could hardly bother about the one-too-many-screw-loose youth, and stormed to his place without removing the showy chef’s coat.

No one questioned him when he banged a new pot on the burner.

 

* * *

 

Daiki’s eyes snap open to the bright light filtering in through open shoji doors, serene sounds of nature permeating the air. But the rough ball at the back of his throat stopped him from appreciating that supposedly pleasant ambiance. His body screams and aches as he tries to sit up, right side beyond forgiving as he buckles forward at the jolting pain. He almost does not feel the soft hands that guide him to a proper sitting posture, hoping it does not kill him as he tried to cough in a painless way. Wheezing, he looks over his shoulder at the pink mushroom-helmet the person helping him has on their head only to realise that it was actual hair.

Small delicate hands produced a cup of cool water. He tried to greedily gulp it down, but the same saving hands pulled it away, soft murmurs that did not make sense reaching his ears. He felt muffled, surrounded by cotton, and nothing was affecting him.

It was not long before he managed to get his vocal cords strumming, near croaking out “Who are you?” Daiki had stopped years ago asking where he was; sometimes it was best not to know.

A light dusting of red covered the person’s t-zone, looking very child-like, and most probably a woman. She was sitting in _seiza_ , knees together, feet tucked neatly and even though she looked like a little tomboy with the high necked t-shirt and shorts, pale pink lips pouted out a “Ah, I’m Kominato Haruichi.” The voice was a little low, but it did not matter; not like Daiki could charm a lady the way he was feeling and certainly not one that looked like she was jailbait.

Then the name caught up to his jittery brain.

“You’re a boy?” he cried out, surprised, and in the same shock, made his throat scuff like sandpaper, the sudden motion pulling at the bruises to his right side.

“Wait, don’t move so much,” the boy cried out, reaching forward to restrain him. Daiki would have laughed if those gentle fingertips did not give way to a firm hand wrapped around his left wrist to keep him from checking his side. “You have stitches.”

That would explain a lot of things, Daiki thought, mind partially clearing from the haze that was starting to build. He then took the next few seconds to categorise what all body parts hurt and what their ailments could be. He was just really glad he had not been shot as confirmed through some prodding.

Satisfied, he lethargically threw off the covers, recognising he was lying on a futon spread dead centre of a _tatami_ floored room, and pushed off insistent hands that were forcing him to stay in bed.

“If the man does not want your concern,” a calm voice spoke, cutting through the fussing, “You should leave him be, Haruichi.”

“Aniki,” the young male said, looking over Daiki to the corner. Daiki turned, painfully slow, chest tight with anticipation. Another pink-haired male wearing a dark blue gi and a frown on his face stood leaning against the door jamb, eyes shut.  

_Almost like a fox_ , Daiki thought, already irritated; he wondered when the other entered the room. He did not hear the shoji door open or pattering of any kind on the _tatami_ , but he was sure this ‘big brother’ fellow was not there when he woke up.

“Let him leave if he wants to,” he walked in further, Daiki tensing in the futon, distinctly aware that he had nothing to protect himself with. “And I’ll cut him down from behind.”

The fox-faced male grinned.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note(s):**

Demi-glace – In French cuisine, it is a rich brown coloured sauce used in a varied number of ways; by itself or as a base for others.

Issei – First generation of immigrant Japanese (in another country).

Sofrito – A Brazilian sauce of onions, garlic, tomatoes fried in olive oil and then recooked/baked/steamed depending on the dish it is being a base for. Or something like that. Sometimes it can be eaten plain or with the addition of spices and/or herbs, or even made with rice. Really flavourful.

Expeditor – The non-cooking kitchen staff that “decorates” the dishes before they are served. Mostly comes in only when it is the busiest, otherwise not needed. Can double as the “caller” who tells each cooking station what dish needs to be prepared, but the executive chef can do it. Here, Taiga is playing all those roles.

Kin to Seidō - Gold and Bronze. And no, I did not choose Bronze because of the baseball team’s name. That was pure happenchance.

Ryōri – Chef. (Sometimes, _ryōrichō,_ meaning head chef). It usually is a great honour to be called this, which is why Taiga feels stifled and embarrassed since he really isn’t a real head chef.


	2. Dining on Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes to be that what you have taken granted for having, is lost the minute you blink your eyes away from it. Each and every one learns this the hard way around, but Eijun breathes it day in, day out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor characters find themselves in a very bad place. You know, the ‘cannot return from this’ bad place.

 

Kazuya watched as Sawamura stormed through the kitchen doors, and before he could whip up a quip over how he really should stop hiding in the kitchen like he belonged in there, the young male breezed past everyone to the back exit. No one changed the way they worked even if they did give the parting back a weird look; Sawamura was known for his abrupt mood swings, after all; but there was something eating at Kazuya the longer it took the youth to return.

He deliberated whether Sawamura had something to do at the strip of land between the two establishments, _Kin to Seidō_ their restaurant, and _Kinpaku_ , the teahouse. Though owned by the same family, they were so vastly different that it was awkward for anyone in their staff to travel the short two minute distance to visit the classically serene teahouse that only allowed private parties to be hosted in their tea rooms. Kazuya always felt stifled when he crossed the entrance on his way to work, and he knows many of his colleagues quietened as they passed the threshold, so different from their attitudes at the restaurant.

Kazuya looked up at the thump of the kitchen door meeting the wall. It seemed an age went by before Kagami re-entered the kitchen with the fiercest scowl on, and then presumed to bang his appliances around (something he gave the others hell for). No one but Kazuya said anything.

“Um…Kagami-san” Kagami glanced at him, eyes nearing bloodshot in their intensity, but he did not dissuade Kazuya from speaking. “May I take ten before we get a fresh set of orders to start on?”

Frowning, Kagami looked at Kazuya’s bare table, and only then he agreed with a wordless nod.

“Thanks,” he grinned, undoing his apron and pulling off his toque, pocketing the hat carefully before dropping both items into his locker. He rummaged for the pack of cigarettes and a lighter flinched from the kitchen, twirling the piezo gun with a long curved nozzle, he exited the kitchen from behind. He did not have to travel far to find Sawamura angrily pacing the length of the alley between Kin _to Seidō_ and _Kinpaku_. The serene atmosphere exuding from the Tea House was destroyed by the agitated man. “Yo!”

Sawamura glanced up at him but ignored him with a clicking of his tongue, teeth clenched along with his fists. He was breathing harshly, each inhale puffing his chest out comically and each exhale making him look pale.

Holding back his frown, Kazuya tried again. “What, did you drop something again, Sawamura? Has your debt to the restaurant increased?” He laughed at the look Sawamura sent him under hair that had lost its hold with the amount of gel the young man used to keep it at bay. As alluring at he looked, angry and bothered, the pallor of his skin told another story.

Kazuya kicked at one of the empty crates lining their side of the alley towards Sawamura who jumped and let out a sharp _eek!_ He was scowled at but Kazuya did not care for those theatrics; “Take a seat,” he instructed with a nod of his head, his voice heavy. He was minutely pleased Sawamura listened when his tone of voice changed, granted that he too tensed when he used this approach.

The younger male hesitated, edging closer, before he plopped himself rather stiffly onto the box, knees together with balled hands resting lightly on them. He looked as though anything Kazuya said would trigger him off.

“What happened?” he decided to play safe.

Sawamura scowled again, looking at his fists, heat rising on his cheeks. Kazuya could not tell if he was more embarrassed to be caught flouncing about while he sulked or was affected by what transpired outside the kitchen. Sometimes Kazuya itched to be able to see out in the dining area and sometimes he was glad no one could see in. Most of the time though, he was glad the executive chef Azuma was not in. When Kagami was left in charge, Kazuya appreciated that the redhead valued on the same level both hard workers and skilled workers, allowing for each individual to actually learn and grow, not like Azuma who when he felt threatened, either found fault to demote or fire the chef.

Even Sawamura, who on most occasions showed that he had more skills to frown upon than to be blessed, Kagami just glared at the youth while telling him he expected more from him. Either Kagami was an idiot on another level from Sawamura, or he saw something even Kazuya could not see.

Like now, when Sawamura was bent forward in the shape of a shrimp.

“Hey now, I’m even taking a well-deserved break to ask about you, you know?” he admonished softly, guising his nosiness. What mattered was that Sawamura fell for his show.

With shuddering hesitant breaths, he mumbled out, lips pouted, “Azu-uma-sama…he…he groped me!” The end turned out to be a snap, voice raised, and instantly Kazuya was on alert, shushing the man.

“Idiot, keep your voice down,” he looked at the once again bowed head, before a snicker passed his lips at the thought of the brawny head chef copping a feel on the lithesome Sawamura. Who at the moment was glaring a thousand painful deaths at him. “So you’re his type, huh?”

Sawamura scowled even more, springing up, and shouted angrily, “Miyuki you bastard! I shouldn’t have said anything!” And he walked back to the door and slammed it shut after him.

Kazuya chuckled, ending the soft laughter in a trail as he produced a cigarette and lit it, holding it between his lips and clenching tight, not smoking it at all. His left hand idly twirled the piezo lighter as he stared blankly at the teahouse wall before him, breathing in a mixture of smoke and cool air through his nose.

He shrugged at the thoughts swirling in his head, pulling at the cigarette until it was almost halfway done, before he thrashed the butt and let out the smoke he was holding in his mouth, not once breathing it in. Kazuya needed to rummage for a cold coffee or something else he would not be able to taste much of the food he was cooking and then Kagami will really have his head.

 

* * *

 

Eijun sulked on his way back, only partly glad that Kagami-san did not grouse at him for stomping away, though he did receive a confused look from the older male. On the other hand, he was more annoyed that he had said anything at all to Miyuki ( _that bastard,_ he thought viciously) only to be laughed at. It was more than a matter of pride to be dealt with like that from the chef, but it was a whole other ball game with the head chef.

At the table, as he was replacing the candles, he had seen where the woman that was tagging along disappeared to, and shocked as he was at the atrocious sight he had happened across, he was torn to two different disgusts when Azuma, while being pleasured under the table, used his filthy large hand to cup his left butt cheek. Even though it was just that, Eijun had felt so violated, sick to his stomach, and it took so much effort not to swipe his fist against that grinning smug face of a man who knew Eijun would never be able to hit. And the confused look Kagami had on his face just ate at him even more.

“Fucking asshole Azuma,” he grumbled to himself, stomping down the street, hoping to get to the main road before one of his caring colleagues passed by and offered him a ride, again. He shoved his fists deep into his pockets; shoulders hunched to his ears, and muttered the rest of the way until a shrill girly voice sounded.

_M_ _ēru da yo, m_ _ēru da yo._

Eijun reached for his phone from the satchel across his chest, flipping it open and frowning at the text he received.

< _Eijun, I just received a call from Azuma-san. How are you doing? He said you looked under the weather. I hope you’re working without stressing yourself too much. Take care of yourself Eijun. Give me a call when you can. Wakana. >_

“Wakana,” he mumbled aloud, thinking. Then shrugging, he pressed the call button and waited for it to ring.

“Eijun?” a sweet voice answered immediately, a mix of worry and relief.

He grinned despite the girl on the other end unable to see it. “Hey, Wakana! I just got your mail.”

“Eijun!” she cried happily. “I was worried about you. Azuma-san, he,” he did not let her finish talking.

Snarling, he broke in, “Don’t listen to that man, Wakana. Ignore him. If it doesn’t come from me or Tanba-san, it’s not true.” He could almost hear the frown in the silence. “But listen now, how are you doing? Don’t you have school tomorrow? Why are you up so late?” Eijun demanded, his brother button switched on.

Wakana chuckled. “I wish you would worry about yourself more than you worry about others, Eijun,” she demurely offered. Eijun laughed.

“Tell me about your day,” he childishly demanded, stopping at the intersection he reached, waiting to cross over to stand at the bus stop. As Wakana started to regale her adventures of the day, no matter how boring, Eijun listened to every word. He loved listening to his non-biological sister’s voice even if he could hardly meet her anymore.

Aotsuki Wakana and Eijun had shared a childhood that was loving and fulfilling and never apart. She had crossed gender boundaries for Eijun when he had wanted to play baseball in junior high and they did not have enough players, going so far as to cut her pretty long hair until she looked just like one of the boys on the team.

When Eijun’s parents met with an unfortunate accident while visiting the city, his grandfather had a heart attack, almost paralysing him. The old man lost the use of his right side and it was difficult to maintain the farm with young Eijun who had no idea how to run the huge land they had. They were forced to sell, and Eijun’s grandfather got cheated out of the deal set, leaving the man more broken than he already was. In the end, after the last baseball game Eijun ever played, when his team got struck out in regionals, his grandfather Eitoku peacefully passed away in his sleep.

Distraught, his last family (and the one he respected the most in this lifetime) gone to leave him to fend for himself, Eijun was taken in by the Aotsuki’s. Eijun had informed them about wanting to start working to pay them back for his last year in junior high, but was firmly shut down and made to attend High School.

“No one will take a junior high school brat seriously, Ei-chan,” he had been told, and instantly moved to tears, vowed to do his very best—despite, of course, being a relatively bad student.

Things took a turn for the worse when those who bought the Sawamura fields came to racketeer Eijun, claiming that his dead grandfather borrowed money from them to help pay for his schooling. By the time his second year rolled around, Eijun was already flaming mad at his helplessness, only to know true discord when Wakana and him arrived to their ransacked home to find Aotsuki-kaa-san had been taken away.

Wakana had cried and cried, and Eijun stood at the entrance, guilt for being alive in every being of his very posture. When Wakana called her father, the man calmly told them to not worry, saying he would bring her back; that it was all just a silly misunderstanding.

It was not silly to them when, two hours later, the cops show up to inform Wakana that her father was found dead in an alley and if she “had any relatives that could take her in?”

And it was also the same day that Eijun vowed, a vow so different from before, heart thudding in angry beats to a vengeful song only he heard pulsing through his body that those men would pay dearly for destroying not only his life, but the life of Wakana’s too.

 

* * *

 

Daiki clenched his fists around the edge of the futon, wearily watching the older brother near him until there was only three feet in between. The light breeze outside rustled through the parted door, fresh and airy, unlike how they were just waiting for the other to snap. The light reflected off the standing male, shadows dancing off pale skin and pink hair and that creepy smile.

“You’re pretty good,” he ends up saying to Daiki, but Daiki refuses to ease up at the close-mouthed smile. With the younger male sitting beside him in a spring-coil tight nervous position and the elder towering him despite his short stature, Daiki knew he could hardly down both males and then make a run for it, wounds and all.

“Or you’re pretty dumb, can’t decide which.” The unnamed male gets down on his haunches and openly observes Daiki despite his closed-lid state, humming as he tilted his head from one side to another.

As frustrated as he was, Daiki could not raise his fist so easily. First, he did not know who these brats were, and second, he did not know where he was. The last thing he remembers is being beaten up to an inch of his life and seeing his…

Daiki’s breath hitched; _that’s right, I saw him._

Finding the resolve he thought was completely shaken out of him, Daiki leered confidently. “Or maybe I don’t think that much of you, have you considered that approach?” the silence that met his statement was long and sharp, and not one of the three moved.

Finally, at what seemed like a trial at the edge of a cliff watching the harsh crashing waves at the bottom, the elder boy sighed out. “You’re an idiot, alright. Get some rest. Your boss will see you when he arrives.”

Instead of easing out at the lack of murderous intent, Daiki tensed up even more. It would appear he had another meeting to get through unscathed before he was let off the hook, and damned if he let it happen just because he was too banged up to take on mere children.

Grinding his teeth, he allowed his lips to stretch wide into a grin he did not feel.

 

* * *

 

He is soaring through the sky to the sound of toneless screeching, and Taiga feels his dreams slipping through his fingers once again right before his eyes, as he lay still, unable to move on the sweat-soaked floor of a basketball court. The world was in slow motion, turning as if forced, tired and suffocating, but turn it did, and he was weighing down on this slow moving world wondering if he would ever move again.

_“-id see how that happened?”_

_“He dunked it so hard it broke-! On top of him!!”_

_“That’s crazy! You think he’s-_ ”

But everything of that day was a blur, and only snatches of it still lingers in this world he is trapped in.

Someone in that one moment in all of the pushing and pulling and poking and asking stupid questions (“Do you remember who you are?” “Do you know what today is?” “Do you recognise this man?”), someone is shaking him and telling him he has already lived through this and he does not need to go through it again. That someone is far away, gently trying to rouse his heavy body, and Taiga, Taiga just wants to reach for the basketball a few inches away from his fingers. He can do it, but everyone has to stop poking and prodding him, and—

 

Taiga jerked awake, body convoluting in pain at the movement, struggling to remain straight braced on one arm as the other held his head. The pounding of his heart from the dream was not slowing down no matter how much he willed it to, and his legs were shaking—not that he needed to stand anytime soon—but the vibrations through the bed made it difficult to calm down. With shaking hands he clenched his knee caps and willed himself to breathe steadily.

He hated this.

It was a while before he managed to sort himself, placing his bare feet firmly on the ground and wiggling his toes. Waking up once with no feeling has forever scarred him, and he has never stopped checking to see he has full mobility of his lower appendages. Patting his muscular thighs, he stood up carefully before resuming his morning tasks.

Days started late for Taiga.

Returning back late from the restaurant made it difficult to wake up refreshed in the mornings, so he usually slept through any alarm he kept even if he knew it was important. Nowadays saw him needing so much downtime that it seemed impossible to have any social life outside of work. Taiga felt that, since he used to have only food and basketball on his mind 24/7, it made it difficult to cut out basketball and have only food to think about. Working with it was enough; if he did not need to eat, he would not even bother cooking at home, no matter how much he liked it.

Magazines bored him, television shows bored him; there was only so much shopping he could do. Virtually, the things that made up his life…came down to just that. Nothing.

So Taiga sleeps off the boring times, getting up only to clean his apartment and do a load of laundry before he returns to work. Once a week when he manages to wake up at dawn does he head to the port to eye the freshly caught fish, and with a bleary eyed co-worker, they would haggle.

Today, Taiga had no such plans, waking at the last hour before afternoon hit. He had no laundry to do, and he had no mood to clean—what was there, he wondered despondently, staring at a virtually dust free surface—and decided to take a jog. At least that, he can still do.

 

* * *

 

Yōichi was woken up crudely by the pounding on his front door, dragging himself up and muttering, he haggardly followed the sounds until he threw opened the door, ready for anything to come at him.

“You’re up,” the man on the other side said, walking away quickly before Yōichi even managed to grate on his nerves for the rude awakening, leaving the shorter man to scowl at his back. That was when he realised what the other said.

“Hold up just a minute now!” he called out, making the man stop, ball head glinting in the late morning light. “I’m supposed to be off today. Get someone else to guard the brat, not like he needs it,” he added sourly.

The man scoffed. “Idiot. Tetsu-san took Hiwatari to the branch house, so he’s resting up there. Apparently he woke up some time ago, and Ryōsuke-sama is already irritated that the boss allowed for that to even cross the threshold.”

Yōichi smacked his face and dragged his hand down, sighing into his palm. “When does anybody in this place ever follow instructions anymore?!” He turned around without another word and proceeded to clean up and head on to work, blood pumping in his system at a rate he tried hard to keep under control. Passing his couch, he kicked the innocent piece of furniture hard, letting out his frustration, before he ambled into the shower.

If Hiwatari was awake, there was going to be a lot of explaining to do, and Yōichi already knew he was not going to like any part of it.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Notes:**

_Kin to Seidō_ – Gold and Bronze

 _Kinpaku_ – Gold Leaf

 _Mēru da yo_ – DnA watchers should recognise this as Sawamura’s mail ringtone. Generally means ‘You’ve got mail’ or ‘Mail has come/arrived’.

* * *

 

 

**Preview of the next chapter:**

_Azuma licked his lips, eyes not leaving the shivering body set before him. “You’re sure I can feast on this?” he asked, glancing at the stoic face of his uncle, the smile still stretched wide. A brief nod was all he needed before he picked up his chopsticks, hungrily leaning over to pick up his food._

_“Itadakimasu,” he leered, watching as the woman froze for all but a second before a fresh bout of tears streamed down her cheeks. “Here now, don’t be scared. I don’t play with my food… too much.”_

_Just as he started to eat, dragging his food across pert nipples, the shoji doors slid open. “You asked for him?” Azuma looked up to see the bowed head of Kuramochi holding down tight the neck of one very familiar sight._

_“Heh, now looks who’s come to see us.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long one to keep editing. I changed the flow a couple of times, not wanting to give too much at one go. And I wanted to desperately introduce Kuramochi Yōichi in this chapter, or Eijun’s story would take too long to get started. ~~Unfortunately,~~ Kagami’s a late starting one, so please hang in there!


	3. Bare Plated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yōichi meets Sawamura Eijun and his life takes a spiralling descent from there. It does not help that Daiki meets a ghost better left buried in his past.

**Warning(s):** Implied rape. No two ways about it. (At least in this chapter there are no messy details to read.)

* * *

 

The sound of the garden echoed numbly in his head, every time he was forced to spend his work hours at the house proper, the eerie quietness making him weary and jumpy. The _shishi-odoshi_ intermittently annoyed him too, its sharp clack causing him to shiver unpleasantly, waiting for something or someone to snap up and run straight at him. Being in this business was nerve-wracking, that was for sure, and being on ones toes was noteworthy even if sometimes, Yōichi reacted faster than he should to situations rather than letting it play out a bit. He was known in the family for being quick and smart and intuitive, but at the same time, he was delegated to a lowly position, no matter how “esteemed” the person he was guarding was.

It also did not help that Kominato Ryōsuke, his recent charge, was one mean fox-faced fuck. Yōichi hates the short pink-haired elder brother, who on a regular, acted as though he was too good for Yōichi's presence. Not that Yōichi doubted the elder’s mettle; it still irked to be the bodyguard of a male who was probably better at self-defence than him.

Yōichi did not let it bother him too much at the moment, though, since there were other pressing matters to consider. For one, there was Hiwatari Daiki, one of the newer upstarts within the group who had, just the previous day, been jumped by their own people. If Tetsu-san had not happened across the lynching—for there was no other word to call the ‘interrogation’—Hiwatari would have been dead by now, doing well as food for the fish in the bay.

As Yōichi walked quietly along the outside corridor, careful not to make too much noise threading his way through the house in case there were guests, his mind ran through different things that the day could bring.

His most feared was the apparent internal strife. The only reason Hiwatari would have likened anyone’s attention besides his condescending gaze for a newbie; it was the fact that he was one of Tetsu-san’s boys. Yuki Tetsuya, known by the polite endearment “Tetsu-san”, only the month prior, was officially announced as the fourth _wakagashira_ of their branch. All hell broke loose between Tetsu-san and the other young _wakagashira_ Harada Masatoshi, also politely known as “Masa-san”. Masa-san was benevolent if you were under him, and usually Yōichi could look him straight in the eye and get on with his life, but just the previous week, the man had rapped him on the ear for being insolent.

“Doesn’t Yuki teach you guys any manners?” He had asked, looking down his nose at Yōichi. Later, Yōichi had to be talked out of giving his little finger to Tetsu-san by his _Kyōdai_ Isashiki Jun, only because “ _What is he going to do with your useless fucking finger?! You dumbass!”_

Yōichi had never been more grateful than at that moment, coming out of the room with two fuming yakuza, all fingers, toes and head attached.

Now, he walks down the bright walkway outside the house, breathing in freshly trimmed trees and the damp stones that had probably been wet to cool off the surroundings, and the little _plip plops_ of the koi fish in the ponds. He is so distracted with his thoughts that, a few minutes later, he passes Hiwatari’s room, back-tracking with a wide annoyed grin on his face.

“You love to cause trouble, don’t you?”

Hiwatari let out a low chuckle, a sound Yōichi recognised as concealed unease. “It’s because you like cleaning after me.”

Yōichi drew near to kick him. Hiwatari scowled. “I’m injured, you fuck.”

He was kicked again on principle. “Where’s your manners, punk?” He enunciated with each grind of his foot in the younger male’s thigh.

“Yea, yea,” Hiwatari mumbled. “My bad, Yōichi- _a~ni~ki~_.” The tease caused more grief on both parties especially when a hard chop to his side followed the cold words of “Don’t make Haruichi’s work useless, loser.”

Since decorum won out, Yōichi clenched his teeth, bowed low and shouted out, “Good Morning, _waka_!”

“Che,” Ryōsuke muttered, turning away from Yōichi. He frowned at the usual take to his greeting, not wholly concerned but not fully satisfied with the status quo either.

“Why are you here today?” Ryōsuke asked, circling Hiwatari’s futon, giving it a wide berth.

Yōichi tracked him, unsure how to answer since anything he said would actually infuriate the fox-faced male.

“Well?” Yōichi cringed internally; the man was already annoyed.

“I was informed that Hiwatari was awake and to come and see he does not cause more problems to you, _waka_.”

The silence following the statement of facts ruined whatever good mood could have been garnered from this congregation. Hiwatari, too, sat still and unmoving, face drawn and eyes focused to the side. While Ryōsuke was quiet, he was more to the emotional violent outburst coupled with his brand of scathing remarks. Yōichi glanced at the weary Hiwatari, and despite himself, was amused that the younger male could read the mood well enough to shut his trap.

“Aw, I’m so touched, Kura-san. I didn’t think you cared so much for lil’ ol’ me.” The words were at odds with the tone Hiwatari used, and almost itching to kick the insufferable man’s face in, Ryōsuke earlier admonishment steeled his lower body from reacting on its own.

Ryōsuke, however, chuckled lowly. “Well, since he cares for you so much, I’ll leave him with you. Don’t make any trouble you two.” The younger male glanced over his e=shoulder—a feat considered impossible due to closed-slit eyes—and moved to the door. On his exit, Yōichi turned immediately towards the injured party.

“How bad is it?”

“Not that much,” gone was the teasing tone as the dark skinned male flexed his arms and tested his stomach by prodding it. “That little twerp’s little girly brother patched me up good. I should be able to leave by evening.”

Yōichi shook his head, a twisted grimace warring with the smirk he was sure trying to filter through to his mouth. “Eh, no, Tetsu-san wants you to remain here until he finds out what happened. Jun-san wants to come and see you too.”

Hiwatari grimaced as well. “Oh god no. Those two just love being doting parents.” He was scowling, looking away from Yōichi, unable to show that he was embarrassed being in the situation he was found in. It had already killed what little pride he had when Yuki Tetsuya, or lovingly referred to as Tetsu-san, had to stop the beating, and physically carried Hiwatari by himself to the Kominato’s residence.

“Just shut your trap.” Yōichi demanded. “I’m the one who has a problem here. All you are doing is sleeping while I have to wait for your ass to get better.”

Dark blue eyes slid towards him. “…and not because you think I’ll be killed for knowing that Masa-san was involved this time?”

Yōichi kicked Hiwatari, listening to his howls as balm to his soul. “Idiot. Watch that loose mouth of yours.”

Glaring from his curled perch, he scowled. “Yea, I don’t know why I wouldn’t feel safe with you around, Kura-san, ‘cause you are such a knight in shining armour.”

Yōichi laughed, high-pitched, disrupting the peace of the garden. “Hyahaha! Don’t you know it!”

Hiwatari sighed, dropping backwards onto his futon and bringing the covers over his head.

The _shishi-odoshi_ clacked again.

* * *

 

It might have been two hours into Yōichi’s vigil when the light tapping of the shoji door inside the house broke his serene and unwanted contemplation of the garden, thankfully stretching out his limbs as he permissively allowed entrance.

“Kura-san," he turned to the skinhead that opened the door, popping his head inside the spacious room. "Oyabun wants you to bring the girl from the car to the kitchen."

Yōichi frowned. "The Oyabun asked for me?" He glanced at the resting Hiwatari, a permanent scowl stamped on his face, rousing from his slouched position towards the door. “I’m kinda busy here with Hiwatari.”

Even the messenger cocked his eyebrow at the excuse. Yōichi groaned.

“Is there no one else on site? Where the hell is everyone so early in the morning?!” He griped.

The messenger bowed, hurrying away, but Yoichi sauntered at a confused pace to the front. By the time he reached, the front drive way was empty, so he rounded back to the garage—no other place for cars to be hoarded on the pristine property—and rightfully enough, the familiar silhouette of the boss' usual driver, Masuko Tōru, was leaning against the passenger side, leisurely taking a smoking break.

"Masuko-san," Yōichi called out, a smile in his greeting as his mouth twisted up into a large grin. "Should you be even taking a break now?"

"Kura-chan," the man nodded, flicking his cigarette, scattering ash before him. As Yōichi neared, he could see the circular pattern of ash around him. Trailing his sight from the smoker and the ash pattern, he teased, "How long have you been practicing this trick?"

Masuko scowled, flicking ash at Yōichi who danced away, feet light, hands in his pockets. Before he knew it, his screeching laugh was already piercing the calm air.

"Just hurry and do your job," Masuko-san muttered, standing straight, walking to the back of his black BMW, popping the hook. Yōichi balked, glad that Masuko was facing his live cargo and not him; quickly, sucking in his cheeks, Yoichi pursed his lips, clenching his fists.

"What's Fujiwara-san doing here?" His voice had softened. Masuko was chewing the end of his cigarette, lips tight and body tense, staring apathetically at the squirming lithe form of one beautiful woman named Fujiwara Takako. "Masuko-san," Yōichi asked again, "What is Tetsu-san's girl doing here?"

"I don't know what," with one heaving pull, the woman was tugged out, precariously dangled from a muscular arm. Yōichi twitched, arms reaching out to steady her, and Masuko relinquished his hold, backing away from Yōichi and Fujiwara. "I was told to pick up Azuma-san from the restaurant. I need to go." Masuko did not wait long; dropping his cigarette, striding to the driver’s side, he stuffed himself in and started up the car. Yōichi tightened his hold on the crying woman in his custody, unknowing of what course of action to take. As he glanced at the pitiful hostage, Masuko rolled down the window, staring straight in front as he said, "Masa-san is already with the Oyabun."

Yōichi cursed, fingers reaching for his cell phone as Masuko drove quietly away, by then Yōichi was already connecting to the person on line. "Jun-san! Where are you guys? You need to get here quickly!!"

A chill ran down his spine when Jun-san on the other end ground out, "We're fucking busy, Kura, I'm sure you can deal with whatever is happening on your side, you stinking brat!" And the man hung up the phone.

 With unconcealed wide eyes, he stared at her.

* * *

 

Wakana tugged at the vice grip around her wrist, scowling as she was dragged unceremoniously from the waiting room out to the passages that virtually led nowhere. Eijun was surprisingly quick to take them to some exit—any place that allowed them to see the outside of the building was an exit to Wakana, and maybe Eijun really did not know where he was going—and swivelling to face her, whispered harshly, “What the fuck were you thinking, coming here?!”

Eijun had never shown that face to her before, livid beyond reason. “You’re lucky Tanba-san called and told me you were here, otherwise I wouldn’t have even known! Don’t be reckless, Wakana!” He glared over his shoulder at her, brown eyes now a fiery gold. “Tanba-san is coming to pick you up, so be good while we wait for him on the main street.”

Wakana pouted. “Mou, Ei-chan. Azuma-san said you were free for lunch today, so he asked if I wanted to come see you.” She blinked up at the furious male, confused, “Of course I said yes. You don’t come and see me when you’re free.”

“I’m not free, Wakana!” Eijun snapped, turning back around and leading the way again. She takes in how surefooted he is, stomping with force, but so quiet on his feet.  It was a contradiction like none other, and it might have also made Wakana draw closer to Eijun as he near sprinted along the large garden, keeping up with the fast pace. Her heart thudded, off-kilter, and not paying attention to anything but his quick moving feet, Wakana smacks into Eijun’s back as he draws to a sudden halt.

“Wha- Ei-chan,” she whined, touching her nose in fear of finding it bleeding, but her hand came back dry. She sighed in relief, looking around Eijun’s stiff stance. A man with the grumpiest scowl she has seen—besides Eijun’s that too—was hunched over, walking towards them. Dark hair that looked greener in the scattering late morning light was spiked up and away from his face, with a few strands slipping out of whatever product that kept the hair at bay. If he was not scowling, Wakana would have guessed him to be relatively attractive.

Dark beady eyes snapped up at the same time she thought it, and she blushed, ducking her head, unbeknownst of the pleasant surprise the male looked upon her with. She glanced back up, demurely bowing her head in greeting, but was jerked behind Eijun who now stood staunchly in front. Wakana could not see what expression Eijun wore, but the vein at the back of his neck was ticking.

“Who are you?” The other male demanded with a crass tone. For reasons neither knew, the man appeared even angrier than they first saw him.

“I don’t give my name out to rude people. We’re Azuma-san’s guests,” Eijun replied. Wakana’s eyes darted from Eijun to the other man.

Thumping a closed fist against the side of the house, Wakana jumped in surprise of the noise echoing along. Eijun gripped her hand tighter if possible, and the tensing of his body only meant he was about to start running. Realising that, fearful of understanding what was really happening, Wakana readied herself to be flung about if Eijun decided to suddenly javelin throw her to get her to safety. She worried about him being that way—more concerned about others rather than himself—but she also knew he would commit _seppuku_ over letting her get hurt in any way and any form.

“Hey brat,” the man snarled, low, “I don’t remember asking you anything besides who you were… If you can’t tell me, I’ll just have to force it out of you.”

Eijun did not wait, he turned around, pulled Wakana along and the two started running with full steam, unconcerned of the noise they were making on the wooden floorboards.

“Wha- Hey! Wait right there, you bastard!” The man started after them, and curious, Wakana threw a quick glance behind her only to gasp in shock. The man was already reaching arm’s length to them, and Wakana forced her crying muscles to move faster.

“Eijun!” Eijun must have looked back at what she saw too, because suddenly Eijun was talking, rushed and fast, and was pulling her ahead of him.

“Don’t stop running. When you reach the end, head left and pass the koi ponds. The back exit is to the right of the moon gate. Wakana, don’t stop running until you reach the main road, you hear?!” Wakana barely managed to nod in consent before Eijun leaves her hand and pivots to face the man head on.

“Eijun don’t be an idiot!” She cried, wanting to slow down but Eijun’s harsh, “I told you to not stop running!” made her hastily pick back her sprint, clawing the air as she followed Eijun’s instructions.

_Please be okay! Eijun!_

* * *

 

Kunitomo Hiroshige was always disgusted with his nephew, but being his sister’s son, he could not leave the man alone. At first, when the then young boy had bowed his head and asked to attend culinary schools in France, he had been against it. Anything and everything Azuma Kiyokuni started he had left it unfinished. Kunitomo had denied it, since the boy had not shown him his worth yet. Persevering, the gods only knew how, in the end Kunitomo had bowed away, defeated, and sent the boy to school only to return a successful and well-acclaimed chef.

It was easy then, to back him up; opening the restaurant near the tea house was like throwing away pocket change to a beggar. The young man had profusely thanked him, bowing his head lower than he usually does, and feeling like the bigger person, Kunitomo allowed for his nephew to be spoiled.

He glances at the large man that he has become now.

Over the years, with the restaurant blooming under the novice chef, Kunitomo only thought it obvious. His blood still circulated in Azuma after all. Only that, despite being a _katagi_ Kunitomo was disgusted how easily the man shrivelled up his freedom by tasting the forbidden fruit that was the yakuza. Even now, unable to really hide the sneer on his face, he watches as the _nyotai-mori_ was brought in for Azuma.

Azuma licked his lips, eyes not leaving the shivering body set before him. “You’re sure I can feast on this?” He asked, glancing at the stoic face of his uncle, the smile still stretched wide. The quiet man who was sitting like a stone beside his uncle looked straight at him, and Azuma snarled at him, turning quickly so as to not lose both his appetites. A brief nod was all he needed before he picked up his chopsticks, hungrily leaning over to pick up his food.

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” he leered, watching as the short brunette woman froze for all but a second before a fresh bout of tears streamed down her cheeks. “Here now, don’t be scared. I don’t play with my food… too much.”

Just as he started to eat, dragging his food across pert nipples, the shoji doors slid open. “You asked for him?” Azuma looked up to see the bowed head of Kuramochi holding down tight the neck of one very familiar sight.

“Heh, now looks who’s come to see us.”

Sawamura turned his head away forcibly, despite the vice grip they knew Kuramochi had on his nape. The green haired male clicked his tongue, annoyed, and tensing his arm muscles, forced Sawamura’s head up. The glare he sent Kunitomo, Masa and Azuma were priceless; if they did not know he was _katagi_ , they would have mistaken him easily as one of their own kind.

“Bring him closer, Kura!” Azuma demanded, suddenly his voice being loud and overbearing in the _tatami_ room. Kunitomo flicked his eyes from Sawamura to Azuma, then to the wiggling woman on the large platter.

“You should eat first, Azuma,” Kunitomo instructed, “Or else your food will spoil.”

Azuma graced his uncle with a smile the man could have done without. Using his chopsticks, he misses to grab the _akami_ sashimi pieces lining one stripe of her stomach, effectively pinching her smooth pale flesh, causing a fresh bout of wriggles and tears to be released. “Oh, I’m just sharing, Uncle. Doesn’t it feel nice when you share your meal with others?”

Sawamura, who had been roughly trotted to Azuma’s side, rounded his eyes when the bulking man grabbed his face by the cheeks, his chin snuggly sitting in the full palm of the man. Azuma squeezed his fingers together, forcing open Sawamura’s mouth—and with Kuramochi holding the young man at bay—he had nowhere to go. The second his supple lips protruded out, Azuma stuffed expensively cut sashimi past Sawamura’s gaped mouth.

“How’s that taste, _boya_?” Azuma cackled hoarsely.

Kuramochi tightened his grip on the male, who had started to choke, trying to bring whatever was put into his mouth out. Efficiently, Kuramochi brought his hand over the opening, tilted his head back, and kneed his back. The pain caused Sawamura to gasp, and he took in more of the sushi, turning pale as he almost choked on the morsel. Immediately Kuramochi released his mouth and Sawamura regretfully swallowed the forced bite on his own. Tears stinging his eyes, he looked at his bent knees than anywhere else, especially not at the naked woman with the sashimi all over her beautiful body.

“Tastes good, right?!” Azuma demanded, and this time, grabbed Sawamura closer to him, out of Kuramochi’s grasp. The grunt allowed it, instantly stepping politely away, but still in quick distance to subdue Sawamura if the need arose, and Azuma was already turning the youth onto his back, splayed onto his lap. The abject fear on baby features was plain to see. “Now, now, Sawamura,” Azuma murmured, as though he was trying for complacent and sensual, “Don’t be like that. Daddy just wants to feed his little boy.”

Sawamura froze at the words, but then resumed struggling ferociously, clawing at Azuma’s face and hands. Azuma, however, was laughing gleefully, chopsticks poised above the lithesome male, swooping in with a morsel now and then, as though playing with a fussy child and his food.

“Stop it! Lemme go!” Sawamura cried out, turning his face away. With where he was placed, he was face to face with the naked woman who too, struggled to move away from them. Sawamura let out a low keel, frightened to see her so close, and Azuma just laughed some more.

Kunitomo nodded at Kuramochi, grabbing the other’s attention. He genuflected, remaining on his knee as he asked, “Yes, Oyabun!”

“Stay here with Azuma, I’ve business to attend to,” Kunitomo stood, followed by Masa, and Kuramochi watched as the two left.

Suddenly queasy as to what the exit of those men meant, Sawamura tried with more force to be let off the large man’s lap, grabbing onto Kuramochi’s pant leg in fear. “Please, stop, make him stop!”

Kuramochi’s face was withdrawn. His eyebrows met at his nose bridge, and his mouth was one seamless line. Smoothly, he jerked his leg away from Sawamura’s hold and stepped a distance away, hands behind his back, standing at attention.

“Sawamura!” Azuma crowed, “Kuramochi here won’t be of any help!” He cackled some more. “You trying to get this mad dog’s attention is just going to spoil the mood now.” Azuma quietened his laugher, pulling Sawamura closer to his body. Sawamura stills, pushing with his forearms against the arms around his torso, craning his neck away.

“Tonight will be just so much fun, don’t you think, Kuramochi?!”

Kuramochi remained where he was, unspeaking and unhearing of the loud screams and cries that filled the room thereafter.

* * *

 

Daiki watches the younger male sitting up front with Kura, taking in the tense frowning body language as a sign that something bad had happened and something bad was about to follow. It had only been fifteen minutes in the car, but Kuramochi had clicked his tongue so many times already that Daiki had lost count. The youth, Sawamura Eijun, was stubbornly staring straight ahead, not even batting his eyelashes without prior need.

“So…” He decided to break in, receiving a flick of Kuramochi’s narrowed annoyed stare reflected through the rear-view mirror as a pseudo response, “What’s his deal?”

Kuramochi clicked his tongue again. “He’s a brat. What more do you want?”

Sawamura stiffened even more, obviously wanting to say something, but doing a real good job of keeping his lips sealed. Now thoroughly interested, Daiki leaned forward.

“Put your seatbelt on, you fuck,” Kuramochi reminded him. “I don’t want you splattered on my windshield _from the inside_ if you decide to fly to the front.”

Daiki waved his hand at the advice, eyes held onto the side profile of Sawamura. “Yo, kid,” he started, “How do you know Azuma…san?”

This time, even Kuramochi kept quiet, probably information he too did not have his hands on. _That’s even more interesting_ , Daiki darted his eyes quickly at the driver.

Sawamura, however, stayed silent.

“Hey, hey,” Daiki poked the young man in the arm. Without budging, Sawamura sat still and steady. Growing more curious, Daiki leaned even further, now draping around the passenger seat and dropping his head near Sawamura’s shoulder. What he saw in those eyes, he has seen them before.

“If he’s not answering, leave him. And sit back down.” Daiki ignored Kuramochi, watching the swirling angry eyes of Sawamura’s with open fascination. “And who was that girl I wonder?” At this, one of Sawamura’s eyelid twitched.

“What girl?” Daiki murmured, close to Sawamura, trying not to raise his voice too much. His own body muscles spasms, holding onto the seat in an awkward fashion.

“Sawamura was running away with a girl. Must have been one of Oyabun’s girls or something. Maybe if I ask, they’ll tell me which shop she belongs to, hyahahaha!” Daiki winced at the laugh so close to his ears, cringing as he tries to remain in between the seats, as Sawamura’s face has now turned into a more furious expression since the start of the ride. Categorising it, Daiki smoothly returns back to his seat, looking out the window.

Sawamura remains quiet even until they exit the vehicle. Daiki follows him, wanting to poke at the youth more, and it is an opportune moment since Kuramochi cannot leave the car unattended until Daiki returns with Tetsu-san, so he is safe to follow after without the fear of being watched. Daiki completely misses, however, how narrowed eyes trail after them as they walked further away from the car.

“Yo, Sawamura,” the other male refuses to stop walking, instead he hastens his step, hands fisted by his thighs. “Sawamura, wait up, you fucking idiot,” Daiki tried again, and this time, he bumps into the shorter male’s body. “Fuck!” He curses, wincing.

“Stop following me to work. I’ll lose my job if they realise I have ties with the likes of you,” Sawamura plainly states, and Daiki is already frowning. It has not been so long ago that he had been thinking differently, it feels.

“Who was that girl Kura-san was so interested in?”

Sawamura swivels in one angry hot turn, grabbing Daiki by his shirt collar and bringing their faces close. For a _katagi_ , the young one was quite daring, _or stupid_ , but Daiki kept their eyes trained. “Stop asking about her. She’s not involved.”

Daiki pulled up his hands, amicable. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not interested. I just want to know why Kura-san’s interested.”

“Fuck if I know,” Sawamura snaps off his hands and grabs at his pant pockets, as though he had no idea what to do with his hands. Daiki understood only so well. “I need to go,” he mumbled, ducking his head until his shaggy brown hair shadowed his face. Daiki watched the male stiffly walk to the alley between the tea house and restaurant, before he followed along.

Just as he turned the corner, the back door opened, and a red head popped out. “Eh?”

“OH! Shogun!” Sawamura’s demeanour instantly took a 180°, and he threw his arms out, splayed. “You’re cleaning up!”

“Sawamura,” a familiar voice said. The insides of Daiki clenched at the familiarity, and his hands itched. He curled his fingers tight into his palms, sweat gathering, and he could not tear his eyes away from the male that walked out further, his full height catching the afternoon sun, throwing a long silhouette across the ground. “Why are you here so late? Usually you’re the first one here.”

“Ahahaha!” Sawamura laughed, high and fake, which even the newcomer noticed because he frowned. The younger male rubbed the back of his head and bowed in multiple apologies, and soon was slipping past the redhead. Before the man could follow as well, he glanced towards Daiki.

Daiki can never forget the sight of a surprised Kagami Taiga.

* * *

 

Taiga was too surprised to hide it, and he was sure the look on the other’s face spoke the same shock.

_Aomine Daiki._

“What happened to you?” Aomine slipped out before he could stop himself.

“I could ask you the same,” Taiga shot back defensively, taking in the swathed form of Aomine Daiki sporting some kind of fashion statement, and distinctly watched as the other physically bit his tongue.

Wincing, the dark skinned man now sedately asked, “I mean, last I heard, you were in America, on a pro team and all.”

Taiga breathed in the confusion as he was used to, the cool summer air filling his lungs. “Er, there were circumstances where it came to the point between me choosing to play to my death over my father’s dead body or walk on my own, you know?”

Aomine’s face took on an ashen hue, and the cigarette limply held between his lips were pulled away to flick against the wall beside Taiga. His eyes flickered to the stub, watching the embers die a slow, lonely death.

“My dad was a police officer; in vice.”

Taiga glanced up at Aomine, not failing to catch the past tense, already rolling his eyes heavenwards for saying what he did earlier. He frowned, not moving to say anything, even though he knew what losing a parent was like.

“So I decided to become one too, ya know?” The man continues speaking with no regard to his audience. “But I didn’t get to pass—tough requirements, ya know?”

Taiga hated the way he was speaking.

“Have to actually stay in the dorms for the initial training regime, then have to actually come to classes on time and every day unless you hand in an explicit reason why you couldn’t spend those boring hours in the class.” Aomine spat on the floor, disgusted at something Taiga did not know. _Maybe himself_? _For not being able to live up to his father’s ideal_? Taiga does not know.

“But ya, pushed out of the academy, then pushed out of home—my Ma didn’t want anything to do with a rotten son like me,” his face says otherwise, the pain in his eyes raw, and Taiga still did not have words for him. What could you say to a man abandoned by his family for being a no-good?

Taiga did not know.

“Even that bitch Satsuki—!” Aomine’s face turned furious. “Treated me like dirt since I wasn’t getting into professional basketball. Heh, what does she know about life?”

Taiga turned his face away, hoping he did not have to see the look on Aomine’s face because it physically and emotionally hurt him, and he had no idea why.

“So I went to the streets, threw away that name that meant nothing, met a few people here and there who helped poor lil ol’ me, and here I am: Hiwatari Daiki.”

At this, Taiga safely chuckled.

“You don’t look like a Hiwatari to me.”

The now ‘Hiwatari’ scowled. “What does a returnee like you know about us Hiwataris?”

Taiga’s chuckling turned to short laughs, which turned to right out laughter.

“That isn’t funny,” the other was trying to hold his cheeks down with sheer willpower, but in the face of Taiga’s laughter, Aomine laughed as well. “I’ve to go, as fun as this was.”

Taiga nodded, wiping away stray tears of mirth. “Sure. Come by sometime,” he said at the wave the man gave him, slouching away. “And maybe I’ll cook you a meal.” Taiga hesitates to call out a name too familiar, wondering if he did, Aomine would think he was disregarding his life choices like the other people in his life did.

“Cook and I’ll come.” The arrogance, Taiga dimly was aware, had not been thrown away it seemed. Perhaps it was one thing Aomine wrapped around him like a cloak, protecting him from all the worldly hurt. “Oh wait, do I have to pay? ‘cause I’m not spending my Ys on the crap you’ll dish out ta me,” and it seemed that he was still stingy.

“Get lost you choosy beggar!” He cried out, “Or I’ll make you pay for my time as well!”

Aomine laughed, skipping the last few steps to his car. “Kissy kissy bang bang, mista?”

Taiga raised his fist in a mockery of starting a fight, but all Aomine did was continue laughing. Soon, Taiga was watching as taillights disappeared down the pathway.

The heavy metal door opened again, this time Miyuki popped his head out. “Are you coming in tonight or should I just continue on without you?”

Taiga sighed, eyes lingering, then turned to half-smile at the younger man. “No, no. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Miyuki cocked an eyebrow over his square-framed glasses, mouth quivering. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taiga laughed, good mood still lingering. Today would be a good day, he felt. “Nah, just like seeing you push Sawamura around.”

Miyuki’s laughed, a sudden burst from his chest through his mouth that Taiga always found so amusing and sometimes so annoying, like a literal “ha ha ha” moment. Stepping away from the door, Miyuki beckoned him inside, the cheeky grin still plastered on his face.

“Don’t let Sawamura see that look,” Taiga warned. “I don’t think I want to start every meeting with him accusing you of crimes I don’t even want to think about.”

“But,” Miyuki stated, looking genuine. It should have warned Taiga what was to come out of his mouth so that he could shove a fist into it, but the other was quick. “Don’t you think it’s a great wakeup to the rest of the staff? I love seeing their startled faces when Sawamura screeches.” They had entered the passaged before the dining area just in time for Sawamura to exit the locker room.

Eyes aflame, Sawamura growled in a high pitch if it were possible, “What did you say?!”

Taiga massaged his temples as Miyuki started laughing. Again.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s End Notes and ~~Maybe~~ Useful Information to Better Understand What You Just Read: **

_Shishi-odoshi_ : A deer chaser. This is the bamboo hallow pipe that fills with water and when the centre of gravity changes, and it empties out into a stone bowl (or something similar) it makes a loud “clack/thwack” sound. This sound is to disturb the peace of the garden so that (mostly) deer are scared away from grazing on the garden.

_Nyotai-mori:_ Body sushi/naked sushi. I think that explains enough.

_Katagi_ : Ordinary person (or non-Yakuza person). The world or people the Yakuza can touch but not enter or become.

_Wakagashira:_ The man just under the _oyabun_ (head boss of Yakuza). In the past, I assume there was only one wakagashira, but as the territory expanded, and groups absorbed other groups, there would be a need for more “right hand men”. These wakagashira-tachi organise the footmen ( _wakashu_ which can mean “children”) into doing the oyabun’s wishes. Hence, some examples:

**Oyabun** —Kunitomo Hiroshige.

**Wakagashira** —Yuki Tetsuya [“Tetsu-san”], Harada Masatoshi [“Masa-san”].

**Wakashu** —Aomine Daiki [“Hiwatari Daiki”], Kuramochi Yōichi [“Kura-san”].

**Katagi** —Kagami Taiga, Sawamura Eijun, Aotsuki Wakana.

Oh, and just in case it was not obvious…Aomine and Kagami are older than Miyuki, Kuramochi and Kominato Ryōsuke. That’s why Aomine calling Kuramochi “aniki” was more of a tease than anything, especially when their true aniki-tachi (or _kyōdai_ ) in the group are Tetsu-san and Jun-san.

* * *

 

I thought of adding a preview like last time, but…that would honestly just ruin things. Oh well.

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! :)

 

(Could I ask for a review? I feel like I’m writing this without anybody understanding it ;__;)

**Author's Note:**

> Um, some characters may pop up or not, that depends on how the story line goes. (I know, I've got two other stories unfinished, but that's for a reason...please believe me OTL.)
> 
> Reviews and comments, please? ^^


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